O' Children
by Liz Beth Rae
Summary: There is no bigger victim in war than children. Follow four wizarding families during the events of The Deathly Hallows, from the downfall of the Ministry to the liberation of all Muggle-borns.
1. Chapter 1

**O' Children**

_They are knocking now upon your door  
>They measure the room, they know the score<br>They're mopping up the butcher's floor  
>Of your broken little hearts<em>

_O children_

_Forgive us now for what we've done_  
><em>It started out as a bit of fun<em>  
><em>Here, take these before we run away<em>  
><em>The keys to the gulag<em>

_O children_  
><em>Lift up your voice, lift up your voice<em>  
><em>Children<em>  
><em>Rejoice, rejoice<em>

August 1, 1997

\*/

The Aarden Family

"Kate…"

The small brown-haired girl, sleepy and tousle-haired, turned away from the whisper. With a sigh, she settled back into her pink covers, two fingers in her mouth, a third over her nose.

"Kate," her older sister repeated, prodding her in the shoulder.

"Whatimbisit…?" she mumbled wearily, her eyes flitting half-open, her sister's unwelcome eager face greeting her. A sliver of sunlight hovered on the lavender wall just behind her.

"Who cares what time it is? It's my birthday today and that means you have to do whatever I say and play whatever games I want!"

"Samantha…" Kate groaned, wrapping herself with the warm sheets. "I'm tired, go away…"

Her words were not well-received. Within moments, the blankets were ripped from her small body and a chill swept straight through her cotton pajamas. Kate buried her face into the mattress and moaned, pulling her pillow over her ears.

"Can we at least play something fun?" she grumbled. "I don't want to play Muggles again, it's so _boring_."

"Muggles _is _not boring!" Samantha replied, indignant, throwing the blankets to the hardwood floor.

"Is too!" Kate snapped back. "All we do is mess around with Daddy's telephone and computer."

"It doesn't matter if you think it's any fun. I'm six now and Mum said you have to do everything I say." Samantha tried to pry the pillow away, but Kate's grip was iron-tight.

Angrily, she released the fabric and continued on with a different tactic. "Daddy _is _a Muggle. Do you think _he's _boring?"

Kate said nothing.

"What do you know anyway?" Samantha sniffed, crossing her arms and throwing herself on the other end of the bed. "You haven't shown any signs of magic yet. What if you're a Muggle like Daddy?"

"Mum said it's only because I'm four!" Kate snapped, finally sitting up in bed, glaring fiercely at her sister.

"Well Mummy said _I_ was floating teacups by the time I was _two_!"

Samantha knew only too late she had gone too far. Convincing her sister to play along with her many schemes of pretend was a difficult and delicate task. Oftentimes it ended with a bitter feud and, like this morning, a fit of loud crying. She threw her hands over her ears and begged Kate to stop, but it was too late. In a few moments, the doorknob turned and their mother shuffled into the room. Lavinia Aarden was a plump woman with an oval face that echoed of a beauty that existed before birthing two exuberant girls. Her bathrobe stretched around a bulging, pregnant belly nearly seven months along. One hand was pressed against the wand pocket of her robe. The other was scratching her head through a mass of unkempt brown hair.

"Girls, what's going on?" she asked softly, removing her wand and flicking it at the curtains. They opened promptly and sunlight poured in, causing them all to wince.

Samantha opened her mouth, but Kate was quickest.

"Sam said I was a Muggle!" she bawled, her little face beet red.

"I didn't—"

Lavinia placed a quieting hand on her eldest's shoulder before turning sternly to Kate.

"First of all, I thought we'd already discussed this." She gave no chance to respond. "Second of all, what does it matter if you're a Muggle, Kate? Your father is one and I love him nearly as much as I love you girls. If makes no difference to me if you can't do magic."

Sam rolled her eyes but for Kate it was enough. The crocodile tears ended almost instantly and attention was again upon the oldest.

"As for you," Lavinia tightened her grip on her shoulder. Samantha braced herself for the inevitable lecture. Her mother took a deep breath and said, smiling, "Happy birthday. Your father's still sleeping, but what'll it be for breakfast, dear?"

Sam smiled as well, a gap-toothed grin brimming with excitement. "Bacon sandwiches and chocolate pancakes!"

"Thought you'd say that. Off to the kitchen then!" Her mother pointed them out of the room and they scampered off with the promise of good food. Lavinia followed just after flicking her wand to make the beds.

\*/

The O'Hara Family

The later morning hours arrived with clear blue skies and stagnant immobile air that pressed down upon six-year-old Mae's little chest as she hovered on her Cleansweep Five. She wavered as her two elder brothers raced toward her, old tattered Quaffle tossed adeptly between them as they neared their trembling sister. She was supposed to be Keeper, but had never really managed to conquer her fear of the ball. Her brothers neared and the faded red object flying between them caused a fearful pounding in her chest. Suddenly it was flying straight for her. Instead of trying to catch it, Mae O'Hara closed her eyes at the last fleeting second as the Quaffle made sharp contact with the side of her face. She released her broom and brought her hands to her bleeding nose, but forgot she was still in the air. With another jolt of her stomach, she fell three feet from her seat to the long grass below.

Her eyes burning, her body aching, unable to breathe properly, she felt the swell of tears at the back of her throat. When she opened her eyes, her brothers were standing there with unsympathetic grins on their faces.

"Alright there Mae?" asked the younger of the two. Fergus O'Hara was short, squat, with rotund features and a pale complexion. His watery blue eyes were sparkling with undue joy. He was twelve years old, a Slytherin, to whom nothing mattered except being better than his two younger sisters and just as good as his elder brother Lorcan.

The fifteen-year-old was leaning on his broom, hands crossed beneath his sallow face.

"Sorry about that," he laughed. "I was aiming for the goal post right behind you, sis."

"No you weren't," came a snappy voice from beyond them both.

Mae squinted against the sunlight as her older sister came into view. The girl was tall like Lorcan, pale like Fergus, but had the same dark brown frizzy hair that belonged to Mae. Though she was but eight years old, Martha's feisty attitude brought her up to the same playing field as her brothers in the endless war that is sibling rivalry. Instead of abusing their youngest sibling with Quaffles, however, she chose to protect her from the violent camaraderie Lorcan and Fergus had forged ever since attending Hogwarts together.

"You aimed that ball right at her head!" she barked, bending down to Mae and wiping some of the blood that had apparently come from her lip. At the sight of it, Mae began to cry and the brothers rolled their eyes.

"I most certainly did not," drawled Lorcan, standing straight and tilting his broom to the side. He had one hand on his hip and was still grinning at his toppled sibling. "She did a great job blocking that goal. The blood just shows what a great Keeper she really is." Fergus sniggered to his right.

Mae was helped to her feet and put both hands to her tender lip. Martha was growing red beside her.

"Where were you, Martha, eh?" Fergus asked accusingly. "We asked if you wanted to be Keeper; you know Mae hates it, so why didn't you step in?"

"Because Mae hates any kind of flying, and at least if she's Keeper she doesn't have to fly higher up."

"She would have done a better job catching it than you," sniggered Lorcan.

Martha launched herself at him, but he made a swift and fluid arm motion and she barely stopped just short of his wand tip.

"You can't use magic outside of school," she huffed bitterly, staring down the bridge of the weapon.

"Maybe not yet," he whispered back. "But the Slytherins have been talking and there are a lot of rumors going around, you know."

"Like _what_?" she spat as Mae crept closer to her side, painful licks of fear and curiosity tearing at her.

"Well, the Dark Lord has managed to get Albus Dumbledore killed, so really it's only a matter of time, isn't it?"

Martha took a step back and crossed her arms skeptically. With an irritating arrogance he continued on.

"It's only a matter of time before he takes over everything. Personally, I'm excited. He's got some good ideas, You-Know-Who…"

"Yeah, like picking on little kids?" Martha muttered.

"Like separating the strong from the weak," Lorcan retorted. He looked very serious now. "All I'm going to say is we're lucky to be pure-blood."

There was a heavy silence, as thick as the still summer air.

"What's pure-blood?" Mae finally asked.

"Nothing you need to be worried about," Martha hushed, but Lorcan fired up at once.

"Pure-blood is everything," he said with a frightening sincerity. With that, he stormed off to the shed, broom in hand. Fergus followed with a final lingering stare towards his sisters.

\*/

The Waters Family

Cynthia Waters entered her dining room levitating a pork roast before her. Her children Arthur, Aiden, and Abigail were busy running in circles around the table, yelling and squealing as they rounded each corner.

"Kids! Sit down! Now—no, stop hitting your sister Aiden, stop!"

They finished another lap and bolted past Cynthia, who staggered backward. A wave of gravy plopped onto the ground and she let out a frustrated growl. Her children paid no attention.

The sound of the front door opening stopped the hectic play in its tracks.

"Dad!" they chorused, scampering over to the door and jumping around his feet.

"Hey, go sit down," he said in his soft voice, patting them on their heads, giving the youngest, five-year-old Abigail, a kiss on the cheek. "Dinner's ready, come on."

They immediately obeyed and Cynthia gave her husband a consternated look.

"They always listen to you," she hissed, lowering the pork roast on the table and putting her hands on her hips.

Tom Waters didn't reply; his gaze was cast downwards. He brought with him an aura of anxiety which deadened the atmosphere of the room. The children, for once, were silent.

"What's wrong?" Cynthia nearly whispered, but her question was met with a shake of his head.

Dinner was eaten in near silence. 8-year-old Aiden almost spilled his milk and 11-year-old Arthur accidentally burped. Abigail excused him, but that was the extent of dinner conversation.

"You kids need to go to your rooms," Tom declared when the last bite was eaten from his plate. He cleared his throat and pulled out his wand, waving the dishes from the table, through the archway and into the kitchen sink.

On their way upstairs, Aiden suddenly stopped. Abigail bumped into him from behind and her cry of pain caused Arthur to turn around from the top of the steps.

"Listen," Aiden hushed, putting his hand over Abigail's mouth as she whined.

The three of them crowded around the oak banister, ears pointed down the hallway toward the kitchen.

"How could You-Know-Who take over the Ministry? Scrimgeour, he—" came their mother's low and anxious voice.

"I don't know if it's even happened," replied Tom. "I just… I have a very strong feeling about it and I'm nearly positive it's happening soon, if not tonight…Things didn't feel right at work today."

The children huddled closer together, pushing their faces farther through the gaps of the rail.

"Do you know what this means?" Cynthia squeaked. They heard what sounded like a sniff and some muffled tears. The hum of rushing water reached them and the clap of a tea kettle.

"We have to leave the country," he answered. "And soon. They'll bring us both in for questioning and we have no chance if they're going after what I suspect."

"What do they suspect?" Abigail whispered to her brothers.

"Shh!" they hissed, Aiden clapping his hand over her mouth again. She squealed behind it, and their eavesdropping opportunity ended there.

"Go to bed right now!" snapped their father from the kitchen. Without a moment's hesitation the three of them thundered up the steps, hearts pounding. Their bedroom doors slammed shut one—two—three. The house went silent.

\*/

The Montgomery Family

Vivian awoke in the middle of the night, her little soft rabbit toy tucked beneath her arm. Light crept in the crack of her bedroom door and she heard mutterings from the living room. The family owl, Eros, hooted from nearby. Parchment paper rustled.

"It's from Nott," announced her stepfather, Cain Montgomery.

"What's it about?" her mother asked.

"Mudbloods," he responded bitterly. "Says here the Ministry's finally seeing reason. Took them long enough. Nott says Scrimgeour's stepped down and Thicknesse is taking over. Should see it in the Prophet tomorrow."

Vivian couldn't hear her mother's mumbled response, but her stepfather continued on.

"Now I wouldn't go so far as Nott and become one of those Death Eaters. I'm too old for that." He gave a single, low chuckle. "But You-Know-Who's got the right idea. I've always thought so. Mudbloods have got no place in the Wizarding World. Ministry's been soft for too long."

Her mother's quiet voice again was lost.

"Go on to sleep," Cain answered. "I'll write him back, let him know we've got a cellar ready for any use the cause can put it to. Oh, and that _girl_ left her clothes in the bathroom _again_. You've _got_ to keep her under control. I don't want to have to yell at her any more than I have to."

"She's only six," said her mother, finally audible.

"Plenty old enough to keep her things in order," hissed Cain. "Go on to bed, I'll take care of it."

Vivian's stomach turned over and she hugged her rabbit closer. She closed her eyes tight as heavy footsteps approached. The door creaked and light poured in. Her breath caught painfully in her throat and she focused all her energy on pretending to be asleep. She heard him cross the room. Suddenly, her rabbit was being pulled slowly from beneath her arm. Wanting desperately to stop him but knowing things would only get worse if she did, she kept silent and immobile. The rabbit was gone, his steps left the room, and the door closed. Vivian opened her eyes to darkness. A single tear fell. If she'd learned anything from previous missteps with her stepfather, she would never see her rabbit again.


	2. Chapter 2

August 2, 1997

\\*/

"Aiden, stop at the corner!" his mother called. Her hand was gripping Abigail's and Arthur walked close beside her on the bustling London sidewalk. Aiden was running out in front and his mother could barely see him as he weaved through the morning crowd. They made this trek to St. Mungo's Hospital every weekday. Cynthia was a Healer on the third floor, for potions and plant poisoning. Their father generally took the Floo Network to his job in the Ministry as a legal expert for the Wizengamot courts. They forged their way through the herds of Muggles and past rows of shops, occasionally recognizing another witch or wizard. Most days, Cynthia would slow down to chat with acquaintances along the way.

Today that was out of the question.

"Mum, why are you walking so fast?" whined Abigail, tripping over her own feet, dragged along without her mother's notice. Her hand throbbed beneath her mother's grip and her shins burned as they hustled down the sidewalk.

"Just hurry please," she replied. Cynthia's eyes darted between the faces that passed them and she barked at Aiden again, demanding he stay close.

They crossed a street and hurried down the smaller side street, to thinned crowds. Within moments, they reached the abandoned department store window.

"No eye contact, kids. Face forward. Anyone watching, Arthur?"

"No one, Mum."

They stepped forward through the dusty glass into the atrium within.

"Morning Cynthia!" cried the witch from the front desk. She handed a clipboard to a man with rapidly lengthening earlobes. "Bit of a slow day so far," she continued, turning to the little family and handing Cynthia a stack of files. "Little boy got ahold of his father's balding remedy and has hair growing out of his ears. And someone took a bad dose of some potion or another, won't say what it was, but they've got a terrible rash."

"Alright, thanks," Cynthia muttered. "Go on upstairs, kids."

She carried an over-the-shoulder bag filled as usual with snacks and entertainment for her three children and passed it along to Arthur. They would sit in the visitor's room on the fifth floor until either she or her husband, Tom, finished their shift and could take them home. The three of them trekked across the atrium, weaving between patients before passing through the set of double doors, and up the familiar staircase.

The fifth floor bustled with any number of visitors the Waters children were used to seeing daily. The room was bright, white-washed walls with shiny marble floors. Sunlight poured into the room through the glass ceiling, rays cast upon the numerous round tables. Several ceiling panes were open, allowing a cool breeze to ventilate the room. A gloomy looking old wizard was staring into his cup of tea against the left wall. A middle-aged woman was knitting a scarf while a blonde baby boy played on the floor beside her. A group of children were weaving through the aisles of the gift shop while their mother flatly denied their multiple requests for a new toy.

Arthur, Aiden, and Abigail stole away to their favorite corner, tucked into a little nook between the farthest wall and the curved counter of the gift shop. Arthur tossed a stack of books onto the table which Abigail snatched for at once. He and his brother, however, were more concerned with the wizard chess set. As the boys were setting up their pieces, a small mousy-haired girl approached the table and greeted them with a familiar smile.

"Hi Kendra," Abigail said politely over the top of _Billy the Bumbling Billywig_.

"Morning," she replied brightly. The same age as Abigail, cheerful and pleasant, Kendra Parish frequently joined them during the week. Her mother was a Trainee Healer in the Spell Damage wing. The girl withdrew a pad of blank paper and ink from her book-bag and began to draw beside the group, little noise coming from them besides the furious mutterings of Aiden's bishop as it was dragged off the board.

The morning proceeded as normal. The plump, kindly gift shop clerk, Edna Haywood, was very fond of the small band of children. She stopped by, per usual, around quarter to twelve to make sure they all had enough hot tea and sandwiches for lunch. Soon after that, a large tawny owl arrived through an open ceiling pane and delivered a stack of Daily Prophets to the shop. Many witches and wizards passed through the lounge as time passed, including Healers who would occasionally come up to fetch loved ones and deliver news. The family from the gift shop had left some time ago. The knitting woman hadn't moved much for hours. Her baby was now napping on the chair beside her. The morose old man had been beckoned away earlier. When he returned to gather his things, he was sniffling and crying so loudly the children were forced to look up. They were used to seeing grief and gave little more than a silent, momentary acknowledgment of his pain before returning to their activities.

"I dare say, do you think that's an appropriate move? Send him! The bishop! The bishop!" shouted Aiden's knight.

"Oh, shut up and do what you're told!" he snapped back, grumpy because he'd already lost twice to Arthur that morning. The white piece trudged forward in disgust and was quickly beaten thrice over the head by Arthur's queen.

"I give up," Aiden muttered, blowing his dark hair out of his face. "I don't want to play anymore."

"You're just being a sore loser…"

Aiden ignored him and grumpily snatched a second sandwich. Arthur shrugged and pulled out a deck of exploding snap. His sister had joined Kendra in a collaborative drawing—a whale wearing a tea-cozy and a monocle. She was about to add a flouncy mustache when a slamming door forced her to drop her quill in alarm.

They all looked up and around the corner, glimpsed a throng of wizards in dark, uniform robes marching into the waiting room, wands drawn. A couple people cried out and a woman screamed, but all went silent when one of the approaching officials fired his wand to the ceiling. A panel of glass fell, crashing and shattering on the floor. Terrified, the four children ducked beneath the table and out of sight.

"What the _devil_ is going on?" yelled a man from the frightened group.

"Silence!" snapped a deep and gravelly voice.

"Psst!" Edna hissed at the children. "Quickly, hide, here!"

She was waving for them to crawl the small space between their table and the counter's swinging gate. The children were partially concealed by the rounded corner of the countertop and if they moved at just the right angle, it was possible to avoid the sight of the intruders.

"Please remain calm, we are from the Ministry," insisted the uniformed man, speaking loudly over the crying baby. The children dared not peek around the corner to see his face. "We have a list of names here. If your name is not on the list, you have nothing to fear. We are simply making our rounds under the authority of the newly appointed Minister of Magic."

Arthur led the way, on hands and knees, passing behind the door, through the small gateway, and behind the countertop. The woman pointed wordlessly beneath the register where a small curtain revealed empty cabinet space. Cramped and terrified, not even entirely sure why they should be hiding, the four of them huddled, crammed within the dark cupboards. They could hear names being called through the thin wall.

"Kendrick, Agatha. Wanted for questioning. Three sons: Stephen age 6, Richard age 4, Colin infant. Husband currently in bed with a bad case of dragon pox. Ms. Kendrick?"

The question was met with silence at first, but then a sudden scuffle, a woman's protests, and the cry of a baby echoed through the room. Abigail stifled a gasp, realizing they must have just done something with the woman who had been knitting there all morning.

"Where are your other two children, Ms. Kendrick?"

"W-with their grandparents," she sobbed.

"We'll be paying them a visit soon, then," drawled the man. "Take her away!"

Kendra stared at Abigail in the dim light as more names were called. A couple more fights could be heard as others in the waiting room were rounded up, all for the same reason, "_Wanted for questioning_." Every once in a while, a name would be read off and another official would pipe up, stating they'd been found on another floor.

Suddenly, "Waters, Cynthia. Healer. Three children: Arthur age 11, Aiden age 8, Abigail age 6. Wanted for questioning."

"Found on the Third Floor, sir. Children's whereabouts unknown. She claims they are with their father at the Ministry."

Aiden had to clasp his hand briefly over Abigail's mouth again to prevent her revealing their hiding spot. Edna's feet were shuffling in place, her shadow dancing across the cabinet curtains. Abigail was beginning to feel terribly claustrophobic and her breathing was coming in panicked rasps. A sliver of light was shining on Arthur's panic-stricken face, his blue eyes shimmering with fear. Suddenly, they heard the crunch of glass as a pair of boots grew nearer and nearer.

"Official Ministry of Magic pamphlets, to be displayed and dispensed accordingly," ordered the same man who had read from the list.

"Y-Yes, sir," stuttered Edna, her feet shifting more frantically. "R-right away, sir."

There was a slight pause, punctuated only by the still bawling baby before, "Those bags there…" he said. "Are there children unaccounted for?"

Edna stopped fidgeting at once, though the children in the cupboard dared not breathe.

"Those two little girls, there," Edna managed, her voice thick. "They ran to their mother when the commotion began and those are their things."

The children could not see, but she was pointing at a sister-pair and their father just beyond the corner table. The little family said nothing. The crying baby continued, the only noise in the room as they waited for the man's verdict on the loosely crafted lie.

"Will somebody shut that blasted child up?" the man finally snapped. "Pack it up, send it to the new children's home. Do _something_."

Abigail's heart pounded fiercely in her chest as the footsteps turned to leave, crunching away on the glass shards. The baby's cries faded just as the door closed. The room vibrated with the hyper-silence. Finally, the store clerk shouted, shakily, "_Reparo_!" and the sounds of tinkling glass told the children the ceiling had been mended.

"Come out, kids," she whispered, moving the curtain aside as chatter broke out among the remaining visitors. A wave of cool air washed over them as they tumbled out from the stuffy cabinets. All four of them were trembling. Abigail was on the brink of tears.

"What's going on? What was that all about?" Aiden demanded at once. He brushed a sweaty lock of dark brown hair from his face.

Arthur and Kendra were quiet, staring up expectantly at the old woman's creased face. She stared at them all, warm brown eyes filled with a strange emotion none of them could quite place. Pity, perhaps. With a sigh, she turned to the countertop and lifted a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"I read this earlier this afternoon," she said softly, her voice shaking. "I'm afraid the Ministry—"

But it was at that moment the doors to the waiting room flew open again.

Their hearts all stopped and Abigail clenched the hem of Edna's skirt.

"Mum!" Kendra cried, tears spilling forth as she ran from behind the counter and dodged between tables to reach her mother.

The woman looked nearly identical to her daughter, her light brown hair up in a loose bun that now spilled out in all directions after sprinting up five flights of stairs.

"Darling, are you alright?" she asked, bending down and squeezing her daughter tightly.

"Yes," Kendra mumbled through her mother's shoulder.

"What's happening downstairs?" a man with thick glasses asked, standing up from his seat, and clutching the trembling hand of a thin blonde woman. "Where have they taken everyone? _My_ sister-in-law, _your patient_, was on that list!"

"Azkaban, I think," replied Karen in a wavering voice. "Until their hearings. Muggle-borns. They took them all, Healers, patients, right from their beds. Some of them were so sick—they won't last without the proper care!" She sniffed loudly and picked Kendra up from the floor.

"They're taking Mum to Azkaban?" croaked Aiden, looking frantically up at Edna.

The woman set her hand on the boy's shoulder.

"The Prophet, this morning," she said, looking to Karen. "There's a new Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesse, a whole article on the supposed 'place' for Muggle-borns in our society."

"Ooh, Edna… Edna this is awful!" Karen whimpered. "You weren't downstairs… you didn't see…They took children… dragged them right out the door… can you imagine? Children in Azkaban? Would they put children in Azkaban?"

Edna moved from behind the counter, brandishing the paper at the waiting room occupants. The Waters children followed closely behind. The faces of approximately ten other people were staring around, most frightened, others pensive.

"There's a whole section in here, starts out the same as these pamphlets… _Muggle-borns and the Dangers They Pose_." Edna flipped the pages of the paper open and pointed to a column.

"Rubbish!" snapped an elderly man from the corner. He stood up creakily, two hands on his knobbly walking stick. "They must 'ave done somethin' else to warrant their arrests, stolen or vandalized or… or…"

"It's the reason they give in the paper. The Ministry's completely lost it… you don't suppose…" The old woman bit her lower lip and glanced down at the children before speaking directly to Karen. "You-Know-Who…I can't imagine Scrimgeour would have willingly selected Thicknesse for power?"

"Who cares?" cried a young woman suddenly from a table towards the middle of the room. Her face was shoved into her own copy of The Daily Prophet. "The Ministry hasn't lost it. If you ask me, I'm glad they're finally doing something about Muggles clogging up St. Mungo's…" She lifted her long nose from the pages and pointed a bony finger at a long article titled, _Leaking Charity: Thievery of a Different Sort. _"Those Muggles have been leaching resources from wizards for too long!"

"Muggles?" snapped the bespectacled man. "My sister-in-law is a witch, and a better one than you I'd reckon. She was in here having a baby today if you care to know, and if I didn't—"

"Jeff, shh…" his wife whispered, touching his arm with her free hand. "Karen, are you sure they've taken them to Azkaban?"

"I heard one of them mention it, yes," she answered feebly. "I really think that's where they've gone."

Arthur grabbed the hands of his two siblings and shuffled to Karen's side.

"They took our mother," he said matter-of-factly. "What do we do?"

Karen smoothed out his blond hair, holding Kendra closer to her as she did so.

"I'll take you. You can come home with me and we'll try and get ahold of your father, alright? So he knows where you are. Pick up your things, we can leave right now…If they ask you your names, or whose children you are, I'll tell them you're mine. I've got one son and one daughter besides Kendra, and they don't have to know you aren't them. And I'll just tell them you're my nephew, Arthur. Does that sound alright? We should be alright getting out of here… they've all cleared out last I saw."

Abigail began to cry and threw her arms around Karen. The woman lifted her into her arms, gave a weak smile to Edna, and left the visitors room with the three other children trailing behind.


End file.
